


Enemy Of My Enemy

by tielan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Gen, Off-World, Women Being Awesome, Women of the Gate Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teyla can't shake the feeling that there's something wrong with this planet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enemy Of My Enemy

Teyla listens to the Za’ahraini leader’s conversation to Colonel Carter with polite attentiveness but cannot ignore the sense that something is not right here.

Directly overhead, the golden orb of the Za’ahraini sun illuminates everything with its brilliant gleam, but Teyla has only the sense of shadows - secrets hiding dark beneath the brilliance.

As they take another turn towards the central building of this city, Teyla glances at her team-mates. They do not seem to sense what she senses; they do not yet share her concern. Colonel Carter seems at ease as she keeps pace with the party, Lieutenant Cadman is looking around her with a bright and eagle eye, and Dr. Abner has the look of a man who would ask questions if only he could decide which one to begin with.

No, it is only she who feels this unease.

“And your people have no fear of the Wraith?”

Ghillian de Salla shrugs. “They preyed upon us and our people, long ago. But the last culling was generations past, and we have lived here in peace for so long...” Her eyes, greenish-blue like the mid-morning sea, lift to the pale sky overhead.

“But you haven’t gone out and explored the rest of the galaxy?”

There is a slight hesitation before Ghillian answers. “Long ago, it was decided that we should remain close to this, our home planet and not go exploring through the galaxy. So we keep to this sector of space, only travelling out on short trips.”

It was on one such trip that the Athosians encountered the Za’ahraini and passed the knowledge of them back to Atlantis.

“Your people said you lived in a great city,” Ghillian says with apparently artless interest. “Far on the outskirts of our galaxy...”

Within her, another dissonance strikes, the evidence of her eyes clashing with the instinct that says, _These people are not who they seem._ But there is no way to avoid the question without impoliteness, so Teyla smiles as she takes a deep breath and a risk. “Yes,” she says. “It is a beautiful city, set high on the side of a volcanic mountain that supplies us with all its power and energy. We call it Taranis.”

\--

Za’ahrain has suddenly become a dangerous place to be.

As they make their way up from the Stargate to the Za’ahraini city centre, Sam is alert and on guard.

Since nobody in Atlantis has mentioned the term ‘pathological liar’ in conjunction with Teyla, Sam figures there’s a reason the Athosian woman doesn’t want Atlantis mentioned in conversation, even if this simple meet-and-greet has just turned edgy.

“It would be dangerous, living beside a volcano?” Ghillian doesn’t seem to have noticed Sam’s surprise, and the other two Za’ahraini representatives are walking behind with Cadman and Abner.

“Yes,” Teyla says. “But there are people whose task it is to watch the volcano and we have had little trouble with it until now. You seem to have achieved much more in your own city.”

A glance around at the steel and glass architecture of the Za’ahraini capital takes in Sam, and a slight tightening of the dark eyes indicates Teyla’s concern.

Before they came here, Sam didn’t know how this ‘command structure’ would work. Technically, she outranks all others in this group, but Pegasus isn’t her turf and Teyla’s people are the ones who made the first contact.

Still, her instincts say Teyla’s just handed off the security aspect of this mission to her. Teyla will handle the diplomatic side; it’s up to Sam to note the military angle. And maybe, later, they’ll have a chance to speak about what changed in the course of a walk from the Stargate.

“We are an...industrious people,” says Ghillian. “Since we do not travel far from our homeworld, and do not set up colonies, there is much to do to improve our way of life.”

“Do you share those improvements with others?”

“Oh, we have several vassal-cultures who are happy to learn from us.”

Sam doesn’t like the sound of ‘vassal cultures’. A decade of fighting Goa’uld and Orii has made her wary of any culture requiring subservience.

“You have no allies?” Laura pipes up from behind.

The Za’ahraini woman turns with a swing of hair the colour of ebony and the fluid texture of silk. “I suppose the vassal-cultures are what you would consider ‘allies’. In exchange for our knowledge and our protection from the Wraith, they provide us with food and trade goods.”

Which sounds as innocuous as the relationship between Atlantis and the Athosians.

But Sam’s beginning to feel uneasy about this meeting.

Something about the Za’ahraini culture is nagging at her - hopefully the same thing that bothered Teyla enough to lie about Atlantis.

The group approach the central building that rises high over the rest of the city, roughly hexagonal and many stories tall. As they climb the stairs up to the entrance, Sam turns and looks back at the city’s buildings - and wonders why it looks familiar.

Then it hits her.

It’s Atlantis.

\--

Colonel Carter makes no noise as they reach the top of the stairs, but Teyla turns towards her, unaccountably disturbed. And she sees the city’s layout for the first time.

 _Atlantis._

Every street and building corresponds to a corridor and a room in Atlantis. The heights of the building matches what the Lanteans call ‘the city skyline’ and even their building shapes echo the unusual shapes of Atlantis’ rooms.

Understanding crashes down upon Teyla in an instant, like the fierce wave of the twenty-year storm bearing down over the city of the Ancestors. But Teyla has no shields against this revelation.

The Za’ahraini capital was built in direct imitation of Atlantis.

And she knows now why she lied.

One thought prevails amidst fearful comprehension. _They must not find out about Atlantis._

She wishes her team-mates were here to back her up, but Rodney and John have come down with a virus that has waylaid most of the Lanteans and made a box of the flimsy disposable wipes a valuable commodity in the city, and Ronon has done something to his knee which requires his stillness while it heals.

And the opportunity to meet these people could not be delayed.

Laura’s gasp turns the Za’ahraini representatives in her direction, but the younger woman’s cover is swift. “It is...beautiful.”

“The view from your suite is even more spectacular,” says Ghillian. “Perhaps you would like to see it?”

“We have no need of a suite,” Teyla says. “We will not be remaining too long.” She recalls, only too well, the last time she was offered the ‘hospitality’ of such as the Za’ahraini.

Ghillian seems surprised but accepting. “Perhaps the next time you come, then. In the meantime, shall we take refreshments in the council chambers?”

There is no way to gracefully decline, and all Teyla can do is catch the eye of her team-mates as they turn to follow the Za’ahraini into the building that is modelled after the central tower of Atlantis, and hope that they have caught her cues.

She must hope that they can conduct themselves in a manner to deceive the Za’ahraini, if only long enough to get them off the planet.

But when they step into the chambers and are surrounded by men and women in cream-coloured vests and neat fitting trousers, Teyla knows that it is too late. Abner yelps once as he is subdued, Laura’s protest is cut off, and Colonel Carter flips up her weapon before she realises that the bullets will not do any good.

Teyla does not resist. As she sees the hand coming towards her head, palm outstretched, she marshals her thoughts to fight against an invasion of a non-physical kind.

\--

Sam wakes, her senses already cataloguing her present position, even as she swings her legs over the edge of the bed and sits up.

She’s lying on a bed. Clean sheets, plumped pillows, and a room that resembles the one Sam has been assigned in Atlantis - same fittings, same wall decorations, same style.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think the Za’ahraini were the Ancients. But that mistake’s already been made once with the Asurans - not a second time.

Abner and Cadman lie curled up on two other beds in the room. The fourth bed is ominously empty, and Sam gets to her feet and realises her headache is ebbing.

Something’s wrong with this situation.

It goes further than the empty bed and Teyla’s absence, further than the décor that is both strongly reminiscent of Atlantis and yet not quite right, and further than the fact that the Za’ahraini are the Pegasus version of replicators.

A glance at her team-mates shows them looking...comfortable. They’re not in a holding cell or any kind of prison; instead, they’re in what looks like a guest suite. Sam turns around and doesn’t feel dizzy. Her headache’s almost gone.

She’s been mind-raped by the replicators before - more times than she cares to count. And the headache lasts for a long time, even when there are escape plans to be made and developed. Only once has the headache been minimal; when Fifth first touched her mind.

Movement on one of the beds turns her; Cadman’s sitting up with her hands over her eyes. “I teased Rodney about his mind-probing experience with the replicators. Does this mean I have to apologise?”

Sam half-smiles at the younger woman’s words, a moment of levity in at situation that’s only growing more serious by the moment. “I’m not going to.”

Cadman drops her hands and looks around the room. “So, this is Replicator City II?”

“Not exactly,” says Ghillian from the doorway.

Both women are on their feet, reaching for weapons that they don’t have and which are useless against this type of replicator. Sam grimaces, but speaks calmly. “Not exactly?”

“We are, in form, what you understand to be replicators. But our path diverged from those that call themselves the Asurans long ago.” The woman’s smile is thin, edged. “Think of us as the Tok’ra to the Asuran Goa’uld.”

Sam is steady, even when the Za’ahraini woman cites the comparison she took from her reading of Sam’s mind.

“Where’s Teyla?” Cadman’s first concern is for her team-mate - as a marine’s should be.

The edge in the Za’ahraini woman’s smile fades, and her lips take on a twist. It’s an all-too-human expression on a creature that is very much _not_ human. “Your friend is...resisting.”

It’s not an encouraging piece of news. “So, she’s doing a better job of it than we did?”

Again, Ghillian winces. “Perhaps you should see what is happening.”

\--

Flat grey light sifts through the clearing as Teyla turns in astonishment. It is the half-light of Athos, a little before dawn. Soon, the shadows of the clearing will soften to the straight, dark boles of the trees and the vague outlines of bushes will sharpen with the crisp morning light; but the world is presently blurred.

On such a morning, John Sheppard came through the Stargate to Athos, and Teyla’s life changed - for better or worse, Teyla still does not know.

She knows that the Za’ahraini are the same as the Asurans - the machines Rodney calls replicators. And she knows why she is here, in this place that is sacred within her mind - a place of meditation and rest.

He crushes the leaves beneath his feet as he approaches her across the sparring field. Teyla judges him, measuring him up as an opponent, for this will come down to a fight.

Tall, but with a stocky build, he will be a formidable opponent. She does not presume that his size makes him slow - Ronon is testament to that. She hears Mahael’s voice in her mind, _Do not close with him; speed and agility are no advantage in close quarters_.

It takes no intelligence of Rodney’s to tell her that this is merely the invention of her mind as she tries to fight off the machine’s attempt to filter through her memories. And it takes no suspicion of John’s to remind her that this is different to the last scenario she encountered in the Asuran capital.

“You have a strong mind,” says her opponent as he pauses at the edge of the glade. His voice is low and deep, the planes of his face strong and proud. He moves like a dancer, like a fighter - with the edgy grace of one who might be a predator.

All his kind are predators.

“Strong enough to fight.”

“But not to resist. You will submit.” The inflections are quiet but heavy, with a dire pronouncement to them.

There is room for doubt in her body, but not in her mind. Teyla shrugs one shoulder, absently noting that she is clad in the fatigues trousers and vest she wore for this mission. The low-angle mobility she gains wearing her split-skirt - a strong centre of gravity, held low - will be more difficult to achieve in this clothing.

Her opponent’s expression is fierce and aggressive, like Ronon’s when he faces a Wraith. There will be no quarter given here - Teyla would not accept it in any case.

She knows the outcome of this can only be to fight and lose. He will not treat her gently, and she has nothing more than this resistance to give him. Instinct tells her that it is resistance and not merely his way of engaging her mind; experience warns her that her best hope is to hold him off.

He attacks, and Teyla loses herself to the fray.

\--

“At first, we harboured resentment that our makers had chosen to destroy us,” Ghillian says as they pass through the city streets back to the central building where they were taken. “But, over time, some realised it was useless to look back and regret opportunity lost. Our makers were gone, but we were still here, and so, too, were the enemy they created us to fight.”

Sam thinks she’s taking this situation pretty well. After all, it’s not every day you wake up and discover that what should be a splinter of the big evil is actually on your side. Technically, anyway.

“So you split off from the Asurans.”

Behind Ghillian and Sam, Dr. Abner and Lieutenant Cadman follow, alert and wary. They have their guns back, but projectile weaponry is useless against the replicators, so Sam doesn’t take that as a measure of good faith. Apparently, after the Za’ahraini realised that Sam and the others weren’t the threat they thought, they took the group back to a guest-house.

Only Teyla remains missing, and Ghillian won’t tell them what’s happened to her.

“We came to Za’ahrain - by accident or design - and began eradicating the Wraith, hive by hive, increasing our numbers. Before long, we were so numerous that we had spread through this part of the galaxy.”

“Go forth,” Sam murmured, almost beneath her breath.

The pale profile turns in a cloud of dark hair. “That was not part of our programming - not the way it was for those who invaded your galaxy,” Ghillian says with a hint of annoyance. “It was clear that the Wraith were numerous, and the only way we could fight them was in large numbers, so we multiplied.”

“You said it was ‘decided’ that you should remain in this part of the galaxy,” says Sam, remembering the phrasing the Za’ahraini representative used. “Who decided?”

They’re nearly at the central ‘tower’ of the city - a city that doesn’t float, that doesn’t fly, but a city that has clearly been built in the image of Atlantis. Ghillian climbs the stairs, her robes flowing out behind her in colourful profusion. “A maker found us.”

An Ancient. One of the several still hanging around Pegasus, although rarely intervening in the lives of those who looked to them for guidance. “And she changed your base code.”

“Yes. She limited our numbers and our ability to travel from this planet. We cannot go far beyond this sector, or the components of our being cease to communicate with each other.”

Like a leash on the guard dog.

Sam finds herself approving of the unnamed Ancient’s decision.

“So what’s happened to Teyla?” Cadman demands, less interested in a recitation of Za’ahraini history and more anxious to find out what’s happened to the Athosian leader.

Ghillian leads them towards the council chamber where they were first jumped and steps into the room. “This.”

\--

As she brushes the cold dirt and leaves from her shoulder, and lightly massages her left arm, Teyla can feel the world changing again.

Around her, the clearing is taking on...aspects. Her vision blurs around the edges, sharpening moving objects and the tall outline of her opponent. And with every change, her head aches - portent of the invasion of her mind and memories by the machines.

Like a knife scraped down the inside of her skull, stinging as the blood wells up, she feels something happening within her head - another part of her that is taken and absorbed every time her opponent defeats her.

As she takes up defensive stance again, refusing to lie down and submit to this attack against her mind.

“You won’t win, you know.”

Teyla doesn’t bother answering. One part of her knows she cannot win, but another part of her is determined to try. Through the years, her people have survived by running and hiding - a passive resistance; they did not possess the means for an active one.

So, too, will Teyla offer passive resistance to her Za’ahraini opponent.

Her muscles ache as he attacks, their staves clashing together with the musical ring of treated wood, the leaves beneath their feet crunching and crackling. He does not allow for her injury - she would not expect him to. He does not ease his blows - she does not require him to. And his eyes burn into her, watching her every move, learning her skill with unnatural dexterity.

Parry, block, twist and turn, Teyla has given up attack, reserving her energy for defence. If she cannot win, then neither can she allow him to take her over without a fight.

She does not allow herself to wonder what is happening to Colonel Carter, to Laura, to Dr. Abner. She does not allow herself to fear for Atlantis, for her friends, for her people. She does not allow herself to speculate on why this taking differs from the last.

Everything is focused on the fight.

High deflection, low block, step back, shift weight, turn, and push... She puts what she has into the fight and it is not enough. His stick snakes beneath her defence and she takes the blow on her hip, beside a bruise that already aches.

This time, when she falls, the scraping sensation of her memories being taken leaves her reeling and retching, her hands digging into the leafy mulch.

"Wraith..." The word is so soft that it does not register with her at first. Movement out of the corner of her eye shows him advancing upon her without the pause he gave her at first, and true fear slams into her gut. His dark eyes are full of a hatred that is directed solely at her. " _Wraith!_ "

This goes beyond the taking of her memories; what was a leisurely triumph for the machine is now a war from which only one will rise.

Teyla almost has time to roll away before he attacks again.

\--

Sam circles the still tableau.

Teyla's hand grips the wrist of the Za’ahraini man, whose palm rests against her forehead. His eyes are open, her eyes are closed, but neither move. When Sam brushes Teyla's skin with her fingertips, the Athosian is cool but not cold. Her chest lifts and falls normally, she simply appears to be frozen, in stasis.

By the door, Ghillian is looking on, somewhat anxiously. "Once we ascertained that you were not what we expected, we withdrew from your minds."

"But not until after you'd scanned our memories," Sam notes.

Cadman turns from her measurement of Teyla's pulse against her watch. "What do you mean 'not what you expected'?"

The Za’ahraini spokeswoman pauses. "We believed that you might be agents of the Wraith."

"Agents of the Wraith? Us?"

"It is known that they have...subverted cultures to their worship. We thought that you might be one such culture."

Sam glanced, first at Cadman, then at Abner. "How come you worked out that we weren't, but he didn't?"

"We do not know." At Sam's frown, Ghillian explains, "You must understand. We have never seen this happen before - that someone should be able to...fight back like this."

There's only one person Sam knows who's fought back - and Daniel had an unimaginable mental resource to hand because of his previous ascension experience. Teyla doesn’t have--

“It’s her Wraithgene,” she says, suddenly comprehending. “She can fight them because of the Wraithgene.” At the mention of the Wraith, Ghillian has stiffened, and Sam hastens to reassure her. “Teyla’s not Wraith, but one of the Wraith experimented with humans, generations ago. Teyla’s descended from one of the people that were experimented on.” It’s nothing more than a brief, but they don’t have time. “Fragments of her genetic make-up resemble the Wraith.”

“And we were created to fight the Wraith,” says Ghillian in understanding, her eyes lingering on Teyla’s face.

Abner’s shaking his head. “Sorry, Colonel - it can’t be the Wraithgene. The last time she encountered the Asurans - when Dr. Weir collapsed - she was just as susceptible as the others.”

“That was before she overpowered the hive queen,” Cadman points out, her voice tight and strained with the realisation that her friend is trapped. “She might have become stronger since then.”

“The Asurans didn’t attack her, then--” Abner persists.

Sam knows more about the mentality behind fighting than most of the expedition’s scientists. “The Asurans aren’t used to fighting the Wraith.” Seeing Abner and Cadman’s bewildered look, she looks at Ghillian. “Your aggressive instincts were programmed by the Ancients, weren’t they?”

“We were created to destroy the Wraith wherever we found them.”

“And you did. The Asurans didn’t. In humans, behavioural patterns are both chemically coded into our bodies - hardwired - _and_ learned in behaviours.”

“Nature vs. nurture.”

“Exactly. If it’s your nature to do something, or if you’re trained to do something, then you’ve already got the prompts there. But if you’ve got both...”

Sam looks at Teyla. A faint sheen of sweat is appearing on the tanned skin, and her chest rises and falls with greater speed. Whatever’s happening in the simulation the Za’ahraini man has created, it’s taking a physical toll on her.

“All right,” Cadman says, her voice calmly practical. “How are we going to get her out?”

\--

Her father once said that desperation is a good servant but a hard master.

Teyla is finding herself in thrall to both.

The forest faded long ago, leaving only the sketchy shadows that lengthen around her as she dodges and weaves out of the way of her attacker. She has a stitch in her side, jabbing hard with every breath, and her shoulders ache with tension and strain, but there is no respite from this opponent.

She can see in his eyes that he will grant her no mercy; she can feel it in every blow he strikes.

“I am no Wraith.” Her cry goes unheeded by the Za’ahraini man as he presses her back. “Whatever you might think--”

A figure looms out of the darkness behind him - the pale tattooed skin and wide, gaping mouth barely hiding the set of Teyla’s eyes and the bones of her face.

Teyla stumbles backwards, rejecting the dream-image of herself as a Wraith queen - rejecting the memory of the old queen’s mind crumbling beneath the will-on-will onslaught.

He follows her, looming tall and harsh in her sights. “This is not you?”

“It is not,” she says, refusing to give in to the thready fear that winds through her limbs, numbing and chill.

Around them, the world blurs, the shadows reforming from the sketchy dark of the forest into the grim curves of a hiveship throne room. And Teyla looks upon the withered face of the queen as her team-mates’ pant into the floor, beyond even speech in their pain.

Something coils within her, like the mythical serpent Dr. Livenski has spoken of, its scaly body holding the world in its grasp, its tail firmly held between its teeth - the cycle of life and the nadir of eternity. Teyla feels the tension in her, a building fury that focuses on the Wraith queen sitting in the chair before her - the queen that represents both her enemy and her self.

Later, she told the Lanteans she did not remember what she did.

But she remembers it with icy clarity.

She struck - with her mind, with her senses, Teyla does not know - but the Wraith queen stiffened, the pale eyes widening as she encountered what the Wraith had once feared and sought to destroy.

“And this is not you?”

Teyla barely manages to get her stick up in defence as he strikes and the throne room bleeds into darkness once more.

“It is a part of me,” she acknowledges through clenched teeth as she parries his blows and moves backwards again across the midnight room. “It is not the whole of me. You were created to fight the Wraith, but that is not all you have done - there is more than that to you.”

The stick descends, catching her hard across the body, and she tumbles and cannot get up fast enough.

Still, she scrambles back as he looms over her. “You do not have to do this.”

But even as she speaks, Teyla knows he will.

\--

Implementing the design is not only possible, but ridiculously easy - replicating things is what these creatures do. The difficulty is in what the weapons is meant to do.

“You realise, this will essentially be killing one of your people?” Sam asks as she puts together the components of an ARG. “Are you sure you can’t just...go in and explain the situation?”

She never thought she’d be sympathising with replicators - or trying to find a way to save a replicator’s life. The last time she tried to save a humanoid replicator, she’d ultimately ended up unleashing a replicator version of herself on the galaxy - a Sam Carter with intelligence and knowledge, but without compassion, connection, or humanity.

“If your companion carries Wraith DNA within her and Zolin was drawn in by it, then I can’t be sure my own instincts won’t override what I know.” Ghillian shrugs. “His...destruction...is regrettable. But all Za’ahraini share his knowledge prior to attempting to enter her mind.”

“Through the subspace link,” Sam mutters to herself as she settles the transmission module firmly against the power source. “You know, sometimes a link like that would be extremely useful for us.”

At least Ghillian has the tact not to gloat. “It has its advantages. But its disadvantages also...” The Za’ahraini woman trails off and her eyes unfocus at the same time as Cadman radios through to Sam.

“Colonel? I think we may have a problem.”

Music to a team leader’s ears. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“It seems that word of our presence has spread, ma’am. And not all the gossip is good.”

Sam thinks that if there was ever an exclamation that could effectively describe most of the SGC missions that have gone through a Stargate in Pegasus or the Milky Way, it would be _Uh-oh!_

“Have they attacked yet?”

“No, ma’am, but it looks like it’s just a matter of time before someone throws the first stone.”

This isn’t good. Sam glances at Ghillian, who’s still zoned out, and makes an executive decision. “Dial out. Head out to the Gamma site and inform them of the situation. I’ll be through with Teyla shortly - call Atlantis and get them to send Dr. Beckett out since he’s more familiar with Teyla’s physiology.”

Her mind’s already working ahead, past the matter of the ARG and the modulation controls - no time to put together a program - and on to exactly how they’re going to get off the planet. Because Sam doesn’t imagine the Za’ahraini people will be happy to discover that one of their own has been ‘disintegrated’ by someone who's made it a habit to kill any replicators they come across.

Ghillian starts. “Is it finished yet?”

“Nearly,” Sam grimaces. “There won’t be time for tests. If your guy - Zolin - works out what’s happening, then he might set up a cipher to counteract the disruptor signal.”

“Then you must get it right the first time."

Sam's relieved that she's feeling a little less sympathetic to the replicators. It was beginning to worry her.

\--

In the city of the Asurans, Teyla's memory was of being taken from the cell and questioned alone. It seemed like hours, a cold, impersonal repetition of the questions, demanding her answers, requiring her response. When she would not answer, they would change questions. There was no violence or anger, and none of the tests that took place in Rodney's mind, or the physical challenges taking place in Ronon's, only the brisk questions, wearing down her silence.

She woke up in the cell, with an Asuran drawing his hand from her head.

Teyla does not think it likely she will wake from this nightmare.

The wind tangles sleek hands through her hair as she runs along familiar trails, her breath rasping harsh in her throat as her limbs ache. Behind her, the ground shakes with the thunder of the _hireni_ herd, thousands of hooves pounding through mud and mulch as they flee the hunters behind them.

Teyla is caught up ahead of the hunt, sheer misfortune that she was not in place when the beaters began chasing the beasts.

As she turns at the corner of this trail, her boot sliding in a patch of mud, Teyla looks for the collection of broken stumps that will protect her from the stampede - that will give her the opportunity she needs to turn and take down one of the _hireni_ bucks.

In her memories, that is how this hunt ends.

This hunt will not end like that.

The stumps are gone, leaving only the bare stretch of ground rising up into the hills, without cover, without sanctuary.

Teyla nearly stops, but the close thunder behind goads her on. Her side aches, the pain spreading through her ribs and belly; her legs strain to keep going, and the fine sheen on her brow chills her heated flesh, but she cannot stop.

Shadowy trees and muted light waver and blend into the corridors of Atlantis. The air, once redolent with the scent of woodland things, now stings her labouring lungs with a salty tang. Empty corridors stretch out in the distance, before curving away, their kinks and crooks familiar but somehow stifling, as though they're closing in on her.

Her pursuer is still behind her. His feet echo in the almost-darkness of the corridors, a steady, inexorable tread behind her, unrelenting, gaining on her.

She fears what will come when he catches her - the destruction of everything she is and everything she could be. She has faced death before, many times before, and many times more since her people allied with the Lanteans but this seems...different: a harder death.

So she runs and does not know where she runs to, until there is nowhere to go - the darkness is too complete. The only light is a pale blue illumination that barely sketches out her body as she turns to meet the oncoming footsteps of her pursuer.

Teyla stands her ground, gathering her strength for a final confrontation as he steps out of the shadows.

"I am not your enemy!"

Her challenge is flung down, and he hears it, but does not heed it as he advances on her.

"I am yours."

His hand reaches out, and then pauses.

There is a burst of light, brilliant and stunning, and Teyla’s surroundings incandesce into white fire.

\--

Sam watches Zolin dissolve in a soft patter, like a localised rainfall of replicator units. The only reason she got it worked out so fast was because Ghillian was willing to help with the disruption frequency.

The Za’ahraini woman quickly moves in to catch Teyla as she folds up, but goes sprawling as Teyla shoves her away.

“Teyla!” Sam touches her team-mate on the shoulder as Teyla struggles to her feet, disoriented by the switch from the mind-world to the real one. “It’s okay. You’re out of there.”

The other woman’s eyes skim the room, resting on Ghillian, who has picked herself up from the floor, and her expression is quiet and intent. “They are Asurans - replicators.”

“We are Za’ahraini,” says Ghillian. There is a hint of pique in her voice, an echo of bitterness that makes Sam wonder.

“They’re not our enemy, Teyla,” she says, hoisting the ARG in reassurance. Her words seem to calm Teyla, for the other woman lets out a long breath. “But we have to get out of here now. Cadman and Abner are off-planet,” or so she hopes, "we should follow suit."

They’ve just killed one of the Za’ahraini, and Sam hasn’t yet met a culture that was willing to overlook the death of one of their own by just-arrived strangers.

Teyla’s glance takes in the replicator parts of what was Zolin and exhales. “Which way?”

Ghillian indicates a corridor. “This way.”

Sam marvels at the self-control of the Za’ahraini woman. For someone who’s just aided and abetted in what’s effectively the murder of one of her own, Ghillian has nerves of ice.

Okay, so she’s got nerves of whatever it is that forms the nanite units, but the theory still works.

She glances at Teyla as they walk out of the room, taking a corridor out to the back of the building. “What happened?”

“He discovered....things about me. Things that he was unwilling to let pass.”

“The Wraithgene?”

Teyla arches a brow at her sideways. “They know and they will still allow us to leave?”

“Our argument is not with you,” Ghillian says, opening a door to steps leading down into the ground - a corridor that echoes with the harmonics of long, empty spaces, “But with the Wraith. The Asurans chose not to fulfil our common injunction, sequestering themselves away from those who would have welcomed their help.”

“And yet you have not ventured out of your sector of this galaxy.”

“We have no choice in the matter. One of those which you call the Ancients required us to remain within this section of space, and forbade us to create more of ourselves. If we travel too far from our homeworld, we risk destruction,” says Ghillian grimly. “It has happened before.”

Sam sees Teyla glance at her, and asks the question that’s been preying on her mind since Ghillian began forming the components of the ARG. “Why did you help us?”

\--

Colonel Carter’s question resonates in the air as Ghillian doesn’t answer, but begins descent.

Teyla glances at the Colonel, who looks resigned, but nods, indicating that they should follow the Za’ahraini woman. With more than a little reluctance, Teyla climbs down into the cool passage that must run to the Stargate, leaving Colonel Carter to take rearguard.

The passage appears to be stone cunningly cut and fitted together without mortar. Teyla trails her fingers against the cool surface and does not wince at the slight aches of her body. Although she only fought the Za'ahraini man in mind, she feels very much as though she fought him in body also - her shoulders feel strained and her thighs tense.

Perhaps it is just that these people are replicators, that this city resembles Atlantis in layout, that Teyla has grappled with one who desired her death and only survived because of Colonel Carter's intervention.

Ahead, the long tunnel is lit with faint lights set at regular intervals, so a wave of light is followed by a wave of dark, and the Za'ahraini woman appears and disappears ahead of them, her footsteps the only constant.

“In the end, and despite the thoughts of our philosophers, ultimately, we are machines.” The words echo in the confined space. “Deep within us is programmed an aggression towards the Wraith and an injunction to remain close to this world. We cannot bypass that, or change that code.”

 _What do you want?_

“You wish us to rewrite that programming?” Teyla already knows the answer.

“You have the knowledge. It has been done before.”

While the Asurans could not tamper with their own code, Rodney was under no such binding - and his changes opened the doorway for the Asuran invasion of Atlantis. The Za'ahraini fight the Wraith, yes, but they are a large population, and even among replicators there is dissent.

“Your people would accept our reprogramming? After we have caused the...the end of one of your own?”

“Perhaps not today,” Ghillian concedes with a touch of amusement as she approaches the stairs at the end of the corridor. “But someday, concordance may be reached to ally with you."

And perhaps someday the Wraith will choose not to feed off humans and the Pegasus galaxy will be a place to live in harmony.

When they emerge from the tunnel in a building opposite the Stargate, Teyla is surprised to find the Stargate area deserted, with only a scattering of Za’ahraini present.

Colonel Carter eyes the empty courtyard with a distrust Teyla is more accustomed to seeing in John or Ronon. “You sent them away?”

“I suggested there were other places to be,” says Ghillian with a hint of humour and indicates the nearby dialling device. "But you should hurry."

The Colonel steps forward to dial the device. Unsure if this is an indication that she should converse with the Za'ahraini leader, Teyla looks around. The Za'ahraini watch them with eyes that are shaded and neutral. They trust Teyla as much as she trusts them.

Conflict rises within Teyla. She does not forgive easily those she does not know, but Za'ahrain presents an opportunity that she does not think she can overlook. They have kept this part of Pegasus free of the Wraith for generations.

“I am sorry for deceiving you when we first came through. About the city of the Ancestors.”

“You were afraid,” says Ghillian. “You behaved accordingly.” As the wormhole connects, she adds, “We, too, acted in fear when we apprehended you and your companions.”

From the corner of her eye, Teyla sees the Colonel glance at Ghillian in surprise. She keeps her own expression neutral as she says, “Perhaps we are not so different in some things.”

“Perhaps we are not.”

She gathers that the Colonel is not entirely pleased with the exchange, but Sam Carter is a soldier with a longer, harder history with this kind of lifeform. Teyla felt the same way when the Lanteans proposed the temporary alliance with the Wraith.

"I can do no more than present your proposal to those who will make the ultimate decision on such a matter.” Beyond that, it is Elizabeth's decision, with the backup of John and the others who are influential in Atlantis.

Ghillian nods, resigned. “Then that is all I ask.” She indicates the event horizon. “Go well.”

They go.


End file.
